Negotiating Black Friday

by Steve Thorngate

For more than a decade, Adbusters magazine has been promoting Buy Nothing Day, an anti-consumerist alternative to hitting the malls on Black Friday.

The values behind Buy Nothing Day impressed Ecclesia Collective co-founder Jason Evans and his wife, but the event itself clashed with their belief that gift-giving has a proper place in Christian community. So in 2003 they hosted their first Make Something Day gathering, at which friends taught each other art, craft and cooking skills. The idea has caught on a bit, and Evans continues to spread the word online. (Via Eliacín Rosario-Cruz.)

My own family members know they can count on some homemade Christmas gifts from me. (I spend a lot of my free time playing around with audio recording and food preservation—separately, that is, though sauerkraut does make a lovely gurgling sound as it ferments.) But I haven't been able to bring myself to eschew store-bought gifts entirely: it seems stingy to receive such gifts without reciprocating and rather bombastic to insist that my family end a long tradition. I read recently of a young Christian couple that avoids Christmas gifts entirely by declining to spend the holiday with either family—a story that impressed but failed to convert me.

Tomorrow I'm heading to Pittsburgh to spend Thanksgiving with my girlfriend's family. While I'm not going anywhere near the mall Friday, I also won't be making anything or taking a hard line against spending a few dollars if it comes up. Time with potential in-laws, even more than time with one's own family, requires plenty of compromise and flexibility. But I'm thankful for it just the same.

On the shelf: Capitalism and Christianity, American Style by William E. Connolly

by Steve Thorngate

What motivates so many evangelicals—with their preference for heavenly treasure and their devotion to the Bible, a book full of diatribes against wealth—to support an economic agenda of free-market fundamentalism and less progressive tax policy? Most commentators answer that the marriage between those who want to rescue the government from a sea of ungodliness and those who want to drown it in a bathtub is one of convenience—they don't like so much as need each other.

According to William Connolly in Capitalism and Christianity, American Style (Duke UP), it's not quite that simple. Connolly claims that an "evangelical-capitalist resonance machine" provides mutual reinforcement for the religious right and "cowboy capitalism":

The radical Christian right compensates a series of class resentments and injustices...by promising solace in the church and the family; it then cements (male) capitalist creativity to the creativity of God himself, fomenting an aspirational politics of identification by workers with men of prowess and privilege...encourag[ing workers] to demonize selected minorities as nomadic enemies of capitalism, God, morality, and civilizational discipline.

This isn't just a denser version of What's the Matter With Kansas? (or, for that matter, Bittergate); Connolly isn't arguing that working-class evangelicals are easily manipulated rubes. Instead, his "resonance machine" works in both directions. He's saying that an assortment of parallel beliefs and shared anxieties add up to a sum far greater than its parts, which strengthens both economic and religious conservatism.

Connolly betrays the limits of his knowledge of the Christian landscape when he characterizes right-leaning Christians as those who follow the Jesus of Revelation and left-leaning Christians as those who follow the Jesus of the Gospels. This leaves out Revelation readers focused on nonviolence or liberation, not to mention John 3:16-thumping culture warriors. He also seems to use the words "evangelical" and "evangelist" interchangeably. But these are just distractions—Connolly does the real work of his critique not as a dubious theologian but as an insightful sociopolitical observer.

The critique is not socialist but liberal—Connolly seeks to reform capitalism, not abolish it. (The distinction may seem obvious, but then so did the fact that a slight difference between two candidates' tax plans makes for a pretty lousy red scare.) Connolly stresses that capitalism is always wrapped up with other forces, and that a resonance with a different kind of religion—one without the vindictive and absolutist tendencies of the Christian right—could nurture a more egalitarian capitalism.

To pursue this, he urges readers to organize across religious lines to "consolidate a counter-resonance machine." He also calls on secular people to welcome religious perspectives—a point that recalls a 2006 speech by Barack Obama. According to Connolly, religion is not a constituency that needs to be shored up or a private matter to leave at home. Instead, it's a potential point of unique and significant resonance with a fairer, more humane capitalism. With the economy in turmoil and the White House changing hands, could this counter-resonance machine start to flourish?

Blogging toward Sunday: Enriched in every way

Ezekiel 64:1-9; Mark 13:24-37; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9

by Christian Coon

My George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine is sitting in my basement, serving as a lovely stand for our waffle iron. It still works fine, but I think I've only turned it on twice since I unwrapped it two or three years ago.

My mother bought it for me. Every year in mid-November she calls to ask what I want for Christmas, and every year I try to put her off—but she is not to be denied. So I mentally rummage through my closets and, instead of admitting how much I already have, I try to convince myself that I need something. That's when I ask for a George Foreman grill. Yes. I must have a George Foreman grill.

No matter how Christians juggle Advent and Christmas, many will be thinking that they lack something. Shoppers will start off with empty carts. Gift givers and recipients will make lists and wonder what's missing from their lives. If you focus on Christ's first coming, the days of Advent remind you that although the promise is there, the manger is empty. If you emphasize Christ's second coming, it's clear that the Messiah has not yet returned.

How interesting, then, that the text from 1 Corinthians emphasizes abundance. Grace, as is often the case with Paul, is everywhere: "Grace to you and peace," "because of his grace given you in Christ Jesus." As Marion Soards notes, "The word 'grace' summarizes Paul's understanding of God's full generosity in dealing with humanity" (emphasis mine).

But it doesn't stop there. The members of the Corinth church have been "enriched in every way" with the gifts of speech and knowledge. (Paul will take them to task later in the letter for their misuse of these gifts.) The Message then translates verse 7 as follows: "Just think—you don't need a thing, you've got it all! All God's gifts are right in front of you as you wait expectantly for our Master Jesus to arrive on the scene for the Finale."

You don't need a thing. You've got it all. Grace and gifts abound from the generosity of God. As we participate in the Advent theme of waiting and yearning for what has not yet arrived, let's remind ourselves that we truly lack for nothing.

---

I'm incorporating an A Christmas Carol theme for my Advent sermons this year, focusing on a different character each week. This Sunday, I'm using the 1 Corinthians text and focusing on Scrooge's initial refusal to acknowledge his abundance—and his inability to find the spiritual benefits of waiting for fulfillment.

---

As for stories about waiting, I was moved by the many accounts this month of people waiting in line to vote. Andrew Sullivan posted several wonderful examples on his blog. Here's my favorite, from a voter in Los Angeles:

Got up at 6:00 a.m. to vote. Put on my sweatshirt and my jeans that reek of Korean barbecue. I arrived at my polling place, a church, at 6:15. I counted. I was number 50 in line. We had 45 minutes before the polling place opened. You had to stand. You couldn't sit or even lean against the building. It rained all night. The sidewalk was wet. When the polls opened...there were 200 people waiting. Some in heels. Some in ties. Some in pajamas. Lots of hair pulled back in ponytails. Lots of baseball caps. Dodgers. Red Sox. Indians.

The line stretched from the church to the Burger King around the corner. Kinda fitting. That's America. Faith and french fries. I watched people walk out with their "I voted" stickers. You could see the smiles...and a few tears. An older woman got her ballot and told the poll worker..."I've voted my entire life, but this is what I have been waiting for."

Christian Coon is the pastor of Christ United Methodist Church in Deerfield, Illinois. A contributor to 365 Meditations for Men by Men (Abingdon), he blogs at GenXRev.

I'm going to your house today

by Ryan Owen

I feel a deep connection to Zacchaeus, because Christ has also come to my house.

I work for an organization that assists impoverished residents of rural Nicaragua. Recently, several of the people we serve traveled to the U.S. One night I invited them to my house to enjoy a home-cooked meal of the foods they missed: gallo pinto, queso fresco, plantains.

Having traveled extensively in the developing world, I'm used to entering homes, including many that are mere shacks of mud and sticks. But this time I was the host—and the one laid bare. When I visit a home, I know that the hosts are thinking, Here is my home; this is my life. What do you think of it? I've seen these thoughts in their eyes. Now I was the host, and my guests could see those same questions in my eyes.

This role reversal was powerful. I thought of Sallie McFague's comment in Life Abundant:

Theology by relatively comfortable North American Christians ought not to focus on personal salvation, in this world or the next, but on lifestyle limitations, on developing a philosophy of 'enoughness,' and realizing that the cruciform way of Christ means making sacrifices so that others might live.

What did my guests think of my commitment to enoughness? Did my relatively small downtown apartment seem like "enough" to them? Or did its granite countertops, hardwood floors and 15-foot ceilings feel, well, like something else?

When God and people connect, things change. In Luke's Gospel story, Jesus pronounces that "salvation has come to [Zacchaeus's] house." I struggle with what the word salvation means for Christians. Zacchaeus was so moved by his encounter with Christ that he gave away half of his possessions. Does this mean that he bought his way into heaven?

No. Jesus' salvation is much more than a get-out-of-jail-free card. Christ gave Zacchaeus new life that day, and this is the Bible's promise: new life for God's creation. If we concern ourselves more with God's creation than with our own salvation, then all will live.

This is the salvation Zacchaeus received when Christ came to his house. I hope that my encounter of Christ in my home will be as effective.

Ryan Owen works for the Rainbow Network, a nondenominational Christian ministry serving the rural poor of Nicaragua.

Charity, justice or both?

by Meg E. Cox

Recently, I was delighted when someone asked whether I still had instructions for an educational version of Monopoly I developed over a decade ago to illustrate various responses to poverty. I hadn't realized that the game was still in use after all these years.

Here's how it worked:

I divided a class into four groups, and I gave each group a Monopoly game with its own set of instructions.

Game One proceeded according to the usual rules.

Charity: In Game Two, one team got $200 each time it passed Go, and the other received $20—to illustrate a difference in income. When the team with low pay got into financial trouble, the higher-earning team was to help them out.

You're on your own: In Game Three, one team received most of the property at the outset, and the other team received just a few pieces—to illustrate a difference in wealth. When the team with little property went bankrupt, the game was over. (This happened much more quickly than in Game One.)

Jubilee: In Game Four, the property was distributed equitably at the beginning. Players could assemble monopolies and buy houses and hotels, but every 15 minutes all property returned to its original owners, along with whatever had been built on it in the interim.

The point was to provoke fruitful discussion of responses to poverty, not to demonstrate that a particular one is always the most appropriate. The different demands of charity and justice for the poor can present difficult questions, as Century publisher John Buchanan notes in his pre-Thanksgiving editorial. He concludes that "it is a matter of both/and, not either/or. We need both social justice advocacy and efforts to meet human need when it presents itself."

On the shelf: The Shack by William P. Young

by David Heim

At long last I read The Shack, William Young's unlikely bestseller of 2007. It's a book of theological fiction about a man who, in the wake of the murder of his daughter, gets to meet God and ask him some agonizing questions.

The novel has spawned an online community of advocates, some of whom share their own losses and religious struggles. It has also been labeled heretical, especially by conservative evangelicals. The Century's own reviewer, Jason Byassee, was unimpressed by Young's theology, largely put off by the crudely anthropomorphic and politically correct Trinity that Young creates. (It's a multiracial threesome who engage in lots of hugging and down-home cooking while they explain things.)

I think the force of the book, however, is its attempt to convey a God who actually likes and understands human beings. "The real underlying flaw in your life," God tells the protagonist, "is that you don't think that I am good."

That the Christian God is good is what many of us mean by "the gospel." But apparently such good news is not widely known or believed. At least that's how I would interpret readers' enthusiastic response to The Shack: people are relieved to know that God might regard human questions and suffering with some sympathy, even love. The book's success may tell us something about the kind of God many people think Christianity requires them to believe in.

The Shack is a kind of Scholastic Books version of a Dostoevsky novel or a C.S. Lewis fantasy—it tackles life's biggest questions earnestly and directly, with talent but not genius. But that is also why it has something to teach us.

The Bailey-Potter S+L

by David Heim

One of the great scenes in It’s a Wonderful Life is when the Bailey Savings and Loan faces a liquidity crisis and Jimmy Stewart, as George Bailey, hops up on the counter to persuade his modest investors not to withdraw their money. "You're thinking of this place all wrong," George says. "As if I had the money back in a safe. The money’s not here. Your money's in Joe’s house, and in the Kennedy house..." George's persuasive speech leads to a triumph of small-town solidarity and a defeat for the miserly capitalist Old Man Potter.

The speech also reflects the extent of most people’s understanding of the banking system. To understand the current credit crisis, Edward Rothstein says, imagine George Bailey and Old Man Potter going into business together—to build homes for all and to get rich.

Blogging toward Sunday: On actually following a beloved passage

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Matthew 25:31-46; Ephesians 1:15-23

by Christian Coon

In the marketing world, a high "Q score" means that an item or brand is well known and regarded. I'm not aware that anyone rates biblical passages in this way, but if you did, Matthew 25 would have to have one of the highest Q scores—not far behind Psalm 23 at the top. A cursory Google search gives us, among other things, the Matthew 25 Network (which has been very visible during this election season), the Matthew 25 Health & Dental Clinic in Indiana, Matthew 25 AIDS Services in Kentucky, the Matthew 25 House Ghana and even the Matthew 25 mutual fund.

I heard Tony Campolo speak at a seminar a couple weeks ago. For $1, he offered attendees white rubber bracelets that said "Red Letter Christians" on the outside and "Matthew 25:40" on the inside. People couldn't wait to buy them. There was a kind of peer pressure present in the room: Are you wearing the bracelet? Why aren't you wearing the bracelet? (I was reminded of the Seinfeld episode in which fellow walkers demand that Kramer wear an AIDS ribbon during an AIDS walk.)

Folks from all theological backgrounds are embracing Matthew 25, and for that we should give thanks. But are we simply nodding and agreeing with this passage, or do we actually follow its instructions? I spent a lot of uncomfortable time this week thinking about how I talk about how great this passage is: how I've become a fan of the Matthew 25 Network on my Facebook page, how I feel morally superior because I think I've fed the hungry, quenched the thirsty, clothed the naked, taken care of the sick. But when I'm honest with myself, I have to think hard to remember the last time I actually did any of these things. And then this passage haunts me.

A couple other notes on this passage:

• Daniel Harrington argues that the Greek phrase in verse 32 usually translated "all the nations" is used elsewhere in Matthew to refer specifically to nations other than Israel—that is, "all the Gentiles." He characterizes "the issue at the judgment scene" as follows: "By what criterion are Gentiles to be declared just or condemned by the Son of Man? The answer is: By their deeds of mercy done to the disciples of Jesus (missionaries or ordinary Christians), because such deeds have been done to the Son of Man." According to this reading, Israel and Gentiles have separate judgments. (Leon Morris, among others, disagrees, noting that this translation seems to "contradict the meaning of the Greek.")



• There are thousands of illustrations of this passage. One book that has more than its share is Sara Miles's wonderful spiritual memoir Take This Bread, about her journey from being raised as an atheist to becoming a Christian and starting a food pantry at her church.

Christian Coon is the pastor of Christ United Methodist Church in Deerfield, Illinois. A contributor to 365 Meditations for Men by Men (Abingdon), he blogs at GenXRev.

On the shelf: 118 Days: Christian Peacemaker Teams Held Hostage in Iraq, edited by Tricia Gates Brown

by Steve Thorngate

When four men affiliated with Christian Peacemaker Teams were abducted in Iraq, media coverage made little mention of the fact that one of them is gay. This wasn't because we'd finally gotten to a place where this was not considered newsworthy. Instead, it was the result of a coordinated effort to keep Canadian Jim Loney's sexual identity quiet for his own safety.

In March 2006, American Tom Fox was killed just two weeks before the other members of the team were freed. CPT gathered various accounts of the crisis for a book, and the publisher assured the organization that it would not cut passages dealing with same-sex relationships.

But, as the introductory material to 118 Days explains, after two successive publishers insisted on cuts to a piece by Loney's partner, Dan Hunt, CPT decided to self-publish instead, releasing the book this past summer. Now Cascadia is putting out an (uncensored) edition.

CPT's unwillingness to cave is a service to readers—Hunt's piece is one of the book's most moving. He describes trying to cope with his partner's captivity while also struggling to be acknowledged as Loney's next-of-kin. Also striking is a chapter by William Payne, a member of Loney and Hunt's Toronto Catholic Worker community, that explores the wrenching decision to hide Loney's sexual identity during his captivity and the difficult task of carrying this out.

Michele Naar-Obed tells of a trip to the chaotic local morgue to look for the four captives' bodies. The horrifying story makes its point: in crisis mode, CPT was participating in what was just another day for Baghdad's population. Beth Pyles, who accompanied Tom Fox's body as far as the U.S. military plane transporting it to the States, was struck by the care and respect with which the soldiers treated both Fox's remains and those of an Iraqi detainee on the same plane. "Even in death," writes Pyles, "Tom accompanies an Iraqi safely to his destination."

There's a general thread of media criticism in 118 Days, and Simon Barrow and Tim Nafziger take on the press directly, telling how journalists and editors "wrote peace out of the script" by adopting a narrative that presented CPT and the hostages as naive, idealistic, even anti-American.

The book might be stronger if it were leaner, if the all-angles-and-voices approach were reined in a bit. Yet some of the less obvious contributions are essential. Watani Stiner, who's serving a life sentence at California's San Quentin State Prison, relays a debate he had with two fellow prisoners after hearing the news of the abduction.

"Why would they go all the way over there in the first place?" asks his friend. "So many ways to lose your life. Why give it away voluntarily? Once you're dead, you're dead!"

Each part of this quote begs for a Christian response. And like CPT, Stiner—a longtime fugitive who turned himself in in exchange for his family's safety—understands that this response is never passive, that peacemaking means so much more than just denouncing violence and steering clear of it.

"I loved my children more than I hated my incarceration," he explains. "Tom Fox, Harmeet Sooden, Jim Loney, and Norman Kember must have loved peace more than they hated war."

I bought a book

by Jon M. Sweeney

I bought a book today. No, what I mean is I bought a book at a bookstore today. As I walked down the sidewalk, purchase in hand, I thought to myself, I remember this feeling.

On Saturday mornings, I sometimes go to breakfast at Lou’s in nearby Hanover, New Hampshire. I sit at the counter, drink my coffee, eat my eggs and wheat toast and read the paper. Then I walk across the street to Dartmouth Bookstore to browse. Egghead that I am, I’m always carrying a ballpoint pen in my shirt pocket, and I often jot down titles on slips of paper and stuff them into my pockets. Later, I look them up on Amazon and sometimes buy them. Of course the booksellers watch this behavior and despise me.

Today was different. At the bookstore, I remembered the name of an author that a friend had recommended long ago. I walked upstairs, located the book and began reading.

I was immediately taken. (Have you ever read Paul Auster? Do.) I sat and read and read, and what I read made me think of more that I needed to read in other books as well as ideas I needed to write down, a letter I still needed to write to my dad, and a variety of other things. In short, I was inspired.

And so I bought the book right there and then, just like old times. I brought the book home and read it nearly straight through. I’ll probably read it once more and then give it to someone. The book caused a small revolution inside of me, generating all sorts of creative impulses and opening synapses.

I bought another book too, and my 15-year-old is upstairs right now reading her Library of America Jack Kerouac. (She’s in that phase. God bless her.)

This wasn’t a teenager having fun with a new credit card, and it wasn’t an irresponsible 41-year-old father blowing his paycheck. Instead, I think that what happened today was that the distance between reading and inspiring, between author and reader, was shrunk down to where it used to be when books had that effect on me—because I bought them then and there.

Jon M. Sweeney is an Episcopalian living in Woodstock, Vermont. He is the author of several books, including Almost Catholic (Jossey-Bass) and Ireland's Saint (Paraclete).

Election-night symbolism

by Steve Thorngate

Last Tuesday night, I went down to Chicago's Grant Park to witness Barack Obama's election and victory speech. At the event, I was struck by the fact that the crowd was at its loudest and most excited not when Obama and his family took the stage but earlier, when CNN projected him as the winner. There was no drama left when the networks finally called it: they waited till the West-coast polls closed, by which time the outcome had been certain for some time. Yet seeing what we already knew to be true confirmed by faraway TV anchors—who don't exactly have a pristine record on this sort of thing—was somehow at least as thrilling as being present for Obama's first speech as president-elect.

It shouldn't have surprised me to see the symbolism of CNN's "breaking" the "news" compete with and mediate the experience of the thing itself. Yes, the concrete reality of the scene at the park was remarkable. Strangers from different walks of life, invested in Obama's candidacy for same and different reasons, celebrated together as friends. It was incredible to see older black adults—who walked and stood and waited in line at an event more hospitable to younger bodies—joyfully embracing white college students. (And don't miss this set of photos, from which the above photo is taken, via April Winchell.)

Yet I found myself preoccupied by the symbolism of the location. This was the site of violent clashes between police and protesters during the 1968 Democratic National Convention. Forty years after the assassination of Bobby Kennedy—on the heels of that of Martin Luther King—robbed the youth, antiwar and civil rights movements of their best hope for electorally induced change, Obama built a successful coalition around similar groups. Right where thousands voiced their isolation from establishment politics, hundreds of thousands watched their candidate win. In 1968, Mayor Richard J. Daley and the Chicago Police Department confronted protesters with disproportionate force. In 2008, Mayor Richard M. Daley joined with the CPD in planning and executing a smoothly run celebration.

My friend Rose participated in an impromptu election-night celebration at the Lincoln Memorial, which last Tuesday more than ever conjured images of both Lincoln's and King's contributions to racial equality. The symbolism of the Lincoln Memorial is very different from that of Grant Park, if not quite contradictory: Obama represents a crowning achievement of the civil rights movement, even as his inspiring message and relative youth represent the hope to finally move on from the cultural and political divisions of the boomer generation. That's a lot to pack into one candidate and one election.

Obama's win is meaningful to many people and for many reasons. (Even a prominent conservative LDS blogger is feeling the hope.) Inevitably, there will be disappointments when the realities of this pragmatic, often conventional politician's governance clash with the idealistic tone and symbolism of his campaign.

But Tuesday, the literal and the symbolic met as we both elected Barack Obama president and celebrated the real progress represented by electing Barack Obama president.

Image by nvidutis, licensed under Creative Commons.

Blogging toward Sunday: Recession-proof investments

Judges 4:1-7; Matthew 25:14-30; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

by Christian Coon

This American Life recently aired two shows on our current economic climate. In the popular episodes, the public radio program does its best to define things such as "credit default swaps" and "stock injection plans." It's easy for these economic tools to come to mind when reading the parable of the talents.

Two of the slaves, after all, are savvy investors. They are given a significant amount of wealth. And though we don't know what specific instructions they are given&#8212possibly there are some winks and nods involved&#8212it is probably understood that they are to make something of these resources.

Perhaps we are each drawn to one of the characters in this parable about the parousia, feeling particular kinship&#8212or misgivings.

• The slave with one talent. It's not difficult to feel for this slave, especially in today's economy: who doesn't feel like burying his or her wealth in the ground? In Jesus' day, it wasn't considered foolish to bury one's wealth. Drawing from Joachim Jeremias, Daniel Harrington notes that "burying money was regarded as the best security against theft." Many of us also relate to the fear this slave expresses. We constantly struggle with failing to live up to expectations and with the temptation to bury our resources so that others cannot criticize. But as much as we may sympathize with and encourage those who are fearful, this way of living will not do when one's faith is in Christ.



• The slaves with multiple talents. My sweet seven-year-old daughter took me aback the other night with a proposal. As I asked her for the third time to get her pajamas on, out of nowhere she said, "I'll put my pajamas on for $50." I have no earthly idea where this came from, but perhaps my wife and I are raising an entrepreneur (though not always a successful one, as I declined her offer). Is this the kind of attitude that the five- and two-talent slaves had? Are they bold and risky, or are they simply being faithful to the wealth they were given? Or both? William Barclay characterizes this parable as one in which "Jesus tells us that there can be no religion without adventure."



• The master/owner. Some of my parishioners tend to rely on the saying, "God doesn't give me more than I can handle." Depending who says this to me, I might remind the person that this isn't actually in the Bible, that God isn't doling out certain tasks or experiences based on one's emotional or spiritual make-up. But as I reread this parable&#8212to try to get a handle on just how benevolent this master is&#8212I wonder if I'm dismissing those parishioners too quickly, without closer reflection on the connection between God's calling on our lives and the spiritual gifts and graces we have for responding to it. There's a difference between what this passage is saying and a simple aphorism. Still, the parable has provoked me to explore this issue more carefully.

Christian Coon is the pastor of Christ United Methodist Church in Deerfield, Illinois. A contributor to 365 Meditations for Men by Men (Abingdon), he blogs at GenXRev.

The pulse of the planet

by Donn Ring

I was recently on the Washington State wilderness coast photographing the Giant's Graveyard (pictured above). Dozens of sea stacks, some several hundred feet tall, are remnants of the former coastline&#8212resistant stone, still standing while the rest of the surrounding shore has eroded into the sea.

In the assaulting storm and surge of tide I felt nature's blunt bone and blood reality, the ebb and flow of tangled life, the powerful pulse of the planet thundering in my ears, spray trickling cold down my spine and splattering my lenses, gusts lashing at my poncho and flipping my oiled leather hat into the foaming spume. I did not come away singing, "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild." Instead, I felt mystic forces beyond my control, forces that shattered my safe, easy-chair theologies. I was moved to silence and humility, and I wondered, "Who am I?"

Donn Ring is the founder of Life Education And Research Network, an organization dedicated to exploring and integrating Christian spirituality and natural survival on this tiny planet Earth.

On the shelf: Collateral Damage by Chris Hedges and Laila Al-Arian

by Richard A. Kauffman

On a rainy day in 2005, on a major highway north of Ramadi, an Iraqi family driving in a pickup failed to stop at a U.S. military checkpoint. Fearing there might be insurgents on board, a Marine shot at the car, killing the woman and critically injuring one of the children. Since there were no insurgents, the military offered the family condolences and $3,000 in compensation.

This sort of thing is not uncommon. According to the Government Accountability Office, between 2003 and 2006 the Department of Defense issued payment of $31 million in solatia (solace) and condolences payments in Iraq and Afghanistan for killing and injuring civilians or causing property damage. Civilians are paid up to $2,500 for a death and as much as $1,500 for injuries.

Some of this "collateral damage" is the result of the fog that attends any war. In Iraq it is very difficult to know who is on which side. Iraqi soldiers trained by the U.S. may be working with the insurgency on the side. And the insurgents blend in with the civilian population, especially in the cities.

In Collateral Damage, Chris Hedges (author of War Is a Force that Gives Us Meaning) and Laila Al-Arian interview 50 American veterans of the war in Iraq. Many talk freely about the atrocities against innocent civilians being carried out by Americans in Iraq. For some interviewees, this openness seems to be a way of dealing with their own sense of culpability and guilt.

One of the problems is that the rules of engagement aren’t always clear—or they don’t work amid chaos. Commanders seem to deliberately disregard the Geneva Conventions. One soldier tells the authors that the real rule of engagement is to "cover your own butt." In other words, shoot first rather than be shot, then sort out the mess later. The main mission is to get out of there alive.

Many American soldiers and Marines also take with them a cultural or racial bias. It is common for Americans in combat to refer to Iraqis as "f---ing hajis." (Among Muslims, "haji" is an honorary term for those who have made the pilgrimage to Mecca.) Iraqis sometimes are even called "camel jockeys" or "sand niggers."

Most soldiers haven’t learned much about the culture, and few speak the language. Hardly any battalions have interpreters. The hand signals soldiers use to try to get cars to stop at checkpoints don't always translate well: what the Americans intend as "stop" can actually mean "come here" to the Iraqis.

What's more, the connections the president and vice president have repeatedly made between 9/11 and Iraq have become for some soldiers an excuse for devaluing Iraqi lives. And soldiers who speak out against atrocities are ignored or even derided.

General David Pretraeus knows that the Americans must win the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people. The counterinsurgency manual he wrote contains a whole chapter on this subject. But the atrocities against Iraqi civilians are having the opposite effect: they build up deep resentment over the U.S. occupation, creating a tool for recruiting more insurgents. As one soldier admits to Hedges and Al-Arian, the battle for the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people was lost long ago.

Here in the States, support for the Iraq War is very low. Yet even many Americans who oppose the war—including Barack Obama—simply affirm that the men and women fighting it are unquestionably brave and honorable young Americans. Collateral Damage pokes some holes in this tenet of American patriotism by offering a sobering view of the range of soldiers' behavior.

To vote or not to vote, that isn't the (only) question

by Meg E. Cox

Whether or not you are persuaded by Electing Not to Vote (Cascade), the book (edited by Ted Lewis and reviewed in the current issue of the Century by Will Willimon) is an important reminder of something that has been easy to forget this election season: though politics is important, it is finite—and it is not the vehicle by which we realize the truth of the gospel.

The gospel is true everywhere and at all times. Christians are called to offer a foretaste of the kingdom, no matter who sits in the White House or walks the halls of the Capitol. The first Christians never had the luxury of voting—but they proclaimed the message of the risen Christ. They prayed and broke bread together; they shared their goods and loved their enemies. They welcomed neighbors who had been cast aside.

We can do this, too.

For more on not voting, see Christopher Benson's post about his slogan, WWND.

Counting down the hours till the polls close

by Steve Thorngate

Anxious about the election results? So am I. Ted Lewis and the Nietzsche-emulating Christopher Benson are rather down on voting, and Shane Claiborne is deeply ambivalent. Michael Iafrate is voting, but with little enthusiasm. Not so with me—my nervous, Christmas-morning-ish anticipation woke me long before my already-early alarm set to get me to my polling place and on to work on time. I voted, and now I can hardly stand to wait for the returns to start coming in.

If you're feeling similar, you might pass the time playing with two cool tools for looking at past presidential election results: by county back to 1980 (via Taegan Goddard) and by state all the way back to 1789.

Whoever wins, one thing to celebrate today is the end (for awhile) of that peculiar breed of public speaking: a candidate's general-election reticence to say much of anything of consequence. Garret Keizer wishes Sen. Obama had responded to questions and attacks more forcefully; here he offers some alternate versions.

Daniel Pulliam wonders why the media is focusing so much less on religion angles than it did during the Democratic primary. And Americans United is looking forward to the end of "a new low in muddling faith and politics" (via Don Byrd).

Finally, while watching the returns tonight, it'll be tempting to tune out everything except which presidential candidate wins major swing states, and eventually the election. This guide from the journalist-wonks and politicos over at the American Prospect is a helpful way to keep track of other things that are fairly important, too—ballot initiatives, gubernatorial races, Congress. You know, the little things.

It'll all be over soon.

Blogging toward Sunday: Be prepared

Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25; Matthew 25:1-13; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

by Brent Laytham and Michelle Clifton-Soderstrom

It's easy to read the parable of the ten virgins as a tribute to two core American values: individualism and meritocracy.

Individualism imagines the kingdom of heaven like this: "I got mine," the five wise virgins say to the foolish ones, "so you get your own." That sounds like our culture, which encourages us to "look out for number one." Hearing the parable this way affirms a selfish individualism, rather than the mind of Christ—who came to seek the lost, to serve the neighbor, to lay down his life for his friends.

Meritocracy imagines the kingdom of heaven like this: "Everybody finally gets what they deserve. The wise virgins looked out for number one and earned their delight by being prepared. The foolish virgins, who played when they should have been working, deserved their despair." That sounds like our culture's approbation of ingenuity and effort, but it doesn't sound like the kingdom of God. The password for entrance into the kingdom has never been "try harder," and the kingdom's economy has never been one of scarcity ("If I share with you, I won't have enough"). Instead, the kingdom of heaven is about an abundance, given to all.

So how might we read the parable as Christians called to serve, love and give? First, as a warning against distraction and a call to attentiveness. "Keep awake" is the repeated refrain of Matthew 24, as well as the parable's exclamation point in chapter 25. "Keep awake"—be prepared. Don't lose focus or lose heart. This points in the direction not of scarcity but rather of receiving the urgent call of the kingdom, of living in the now and the not yet.

This is a warning and an exhortation made necessary by waiting. The bridegroom was delayed, is delayed still. We've been waiting a long time for the coming of the kingdom and the return of our king. Sustaining hope for the long haul is difficult in a culture saturated with sound bites, permeated with possibilities, awash in advertising. The real enemy of our hope in Christ isn't despair or disappointment but dissipation, distraction and drowsiness. Keep awake! For it is only in wakefulness that we receive God's good gifts in the now and prepare for the not yet.

This is what we seek to hear, time after time. Not a new word from God, but Christ's consistent word of warning: Stay awake! Don't lose heart; don't lose faith; don't lose hope. Stay awake, because the best is yet to come.

Biblical warnings are consistently tied to promises, and here the promise is simple: Christ will come. We know neither the day nor the hour, but the promise's emphasis is not on knowing. Nor is it on scarcity or individualism or merit. The emphasis is on preparation. The oil in this story is akin to the oil placed on the forehead of the priests, the oil with which we anoint one another, preparing one another for our priestly call. This oil is a gift, given to each, and represents the abundant promises of God.

And so we don't sleep. We pay attention. We live, love and serve in the expectation that Christ will come. Later in Matthew 25, Jesus tells us exactly what this paying attention looks like. It is feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger, visiting the sick and those in prison. And the kingdom of heaven will be like this: a wedding banquet, a feast with our Lord, the entrance into eternal life. Who could sleep through that? Thanks be to God.

Michelle Clifton-Soderstrom and Brent Laytham teach theology and ethics at North Park Theological Seminary. Both are endorsers of The Ekklesia Project, a network of Christian friendship committed to the holiness and unity of the church. See its online lectionary resource.